Guide Me
by shooptastic
Summary: After witnessing a startling event, Lovino Vargas finds himself stricken with blindness from a psychological misfortune called 'conversion disorder'. Without anyone to guide him, he is placed with Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, a novice seeing-eye counselor, who will try to help him regain his sight and if not, teach him how to live in the new dark, lonely world ahead of him.
1. Lead Me

There was only one thing Lovino Vargas learned from sitting in a hospital bed, unable to move without help or see anything in front of him. He didn't have much for family, so the room was quiet and he only heard nurses come in and out, chatting idly to him and grumbling when he was too afraid to respond.

Lovino hadn't moved in a while. The doctors performed basic motor skills tests, in which they were too quiet for him to hear, so he sat there like a dumb fool while they shone a flashlight in his face. When they got no response, and checked him out, they concluded that it was conversion disorder, which meant he was making a bigger deal of it than it actually was subconsciously.

That wasn't how they worded it though. He was in there because he went through trauma. He went through trauma because he saw someone hit by a car and cut in half right in front of him, and he was lucky enough to move out of the way in time. It wasn't until the bloodied car ripped into reverse and he saw the mess before him that he fainted and hit his head on the pavement. Nice town, Chicago was. He didn't even remember the license plate. The worst part about being blind was that you could still see things. That image of the fat, obese man was still fresh in his mind as the smell of hydrogen peroxide was in the air. He gave a shiver and rubbed his eyes, expecting the world to be right in front of him and failing. Lovino wasn't sure how he'd pay for the bills, but he'd manage on his journalism job that probably had to be put on the back burner until he either got his vision back or learned to read a series of bumps.

"Lovino," his doctor began. She caught him off guard, and he jumped in his bed, looking for the source of the noise. "Lovino, we've found a method of treatment. I know you can't see him, but this is Antonio, and he'll be your caretaker for the time being until further notice."

"Hello," a disembodied voice spoke clearly, but gently. His hand was taken in a stronger, larger one and shook, and he was glad for some sort of contact. "I hope you do not mind me staying with you." Was he Mexican? Lovino was by no means racist, but he'd had troubles with Mexicans in the past, and it was enough for him to keep a grudge. The man who was shaking his hand was on his bed now; he felt the shift in the mattress. "If you chose to have it this way, you'll never know I'm there! Oh— well, I just meant that I don't make a lot of noise, if you want me to, and I can only be there to do my job, but I'm generally hired to be on site 24/7."

"You're fine," Lovino muscled out, and the man laughed, repeating his name, that he was Antonio and Lovino was his second client. The first had gone over all right, he had said, blathering on while he was slowly inched out of the bed he had been in for what seemed like days, and how the old man only kicked the bucket because he passed out in his sleep. Lovino was worried again. How could he be handled in the hands of a total apprentice? He didn't want to die! His sister was in France, unknowing that he was ever blind in the first place! He trembled, and Antonio rushed to recover, but merely helped him out of his hospital gown and into a pair of clothes of his own.

"Let's start over. I'm Antonio; I'll be helping you out for a while." His hand was taken again and he felt himself jump. That would have to take getting used to. Antonio shook it and he lazily returned it, making a mental note to ask if he was in the military. Once he was in his own clothes again, he felt out of his skin. Antonio helped him weave his hand onto what seemed to be his arm, and Lovino clutched it, terrified to take a step forward. "Don't worry, you have a big room. I won't let you trip over anything or knock into something." Lovino could hear the smile in his voice, and took a shaky step, and Antonio followed him with it, at his exact pace. When he failed to continue, feeling as if he was on a high wire and any step would cause him to fall off and hit his head again, Antonio didn't push him.

"What's the weather like?" Lovino asked softly while taking another step, having to tap the ground around him to make sure he wouldn't fall. Antonio tightened his arm so he felt more secure; however, it only made him feel as if he had to squeeze closer. The man didn't seem to flinch at all.

"Partly cloudy, and a little bit breezy. It's perfect out," he answered after a beat, stalling only slightly to do something and continuing their slow pace out of the room. The air changed and a tinkling sound rang in the air. "Just my keys, it's okay. You're doing great."

Lovino was sure it took them at least a half an hour to leave the hospital and even then, it seemed to take forever to get him into Antonio's car. It eventually resulted in Lovino begging him just to put him in the damn thing, but he got in a minute later without much difficulty. Antonio wanted him to be as independent as possible, but the only thing Lovino wanted to do was go home and see if he could have some sense of normal. "What kind of car is this?" Lovino asked him, swatting blindly for the seatbelt and finally getting it, where Antonio led his hand to the buckle as to not waste daylight getting to Lovino's home.

"It's nothing special," he chuckled, turning it on slowly as not to frighten him by the soft purr of the vehicle under him. "It's an Acura from 2010; the therapy center I work for issued it to me as a reward and because originally I had a very tall car that didn't really help for assisted living." He spoke as he drove. Lovino felt him shifting around and knew that he was checking his mirrors and blind spots as any intelligent person would. He relaxed and snorted in response, but spoke no more. He found himself trying to blink the blindness away to avoid unconvincing the man, but proved unfruitful.

Without warning, he burst into whining sobs and wept the entire ride home. Antonio understood his pain and let him release his tensions without a word. Only when he parked in the driveway did he return to his stony-faced demeanor.

Antonio, who was now a very soft-spoken man and only spoke to him when he was instructing something or when Lovino asked him a question, led him throughout his own house as if he were selling it, instructing him of walls and allowing him to try to feel against the wall to walk on his own.

"Thank goodness you don't have stairs!" Antonio laughed as he broke the silence when Lovino stopped in the middle of the hallway and began to shake with fear. "Right now you're in the middle of the kitchen… by the counter… yes, that's the cutting board, don't touch the knives though. We just got you out of the hospital didn't we?"

"That's right," Lovino laughed weakly, backing away and startling himself when he ran into the knobs to the gas stove. "Antonio, help—"

"Try to picture your kitchen." He instructed, his footsteps close by but backing away from him. "It's a beautiful kitchen…"

"I can't, it's all black," he spoke over him, frightened and alone in the dark. "I can't see anything."

"You can see black," he informed him, and Lovino laughed again, half-heartedly and very afraid. "You're in no danger, I promise. You won't slip on anything and you won't run into anything. If you might, I'll stop you before you do."

He breathed out shakily and softly held out his hands to feel what was in front of him and feeling the backsplash his sister picked out when she lived with him. Her room was now a guest bedroom, which Antonio had informed him he would live in if he had the permission to. His sister was going to be in France for another two months, and he agreed that it would be fine. He missed her dearly, to be honest. She had a lover there, a strong burly man with blond hair and blue eyes who spoke six different languages and helped her translate recipes at her cooking school. She wanted to be a chef, and God help anyone who tried to hold her back.

He took a brave step forward, knowing she'd urge him to do so if she were here. Antonio gasped and cursed in Spanish, he knew because Italian was practically the same if not identical in some ways and stopped where he was going. "What's the matter?"

"Not to alarm you, friend, but put your hands down very, very slowly." His voice was very close, almost on top of his and he felt Antonio's breath on his skin. "You nearly knocked me out there— that was a close one. Perhaps I should contact the warehouse we have at my work and… do not be offended, get you a cane to feel around. I believe it might be better than me escorting you everywhere, but if you chose so, I can."

Lovino took a step backward and winced as he ran into a hard, jagged surface. The counters, he presumed, since he had felt it many times before. Antonio clicked his tongue at him to stop and quickly clutched his hand.

"Ah, we can practice later, in a wider room without as many sharp objects." He told him kindly, laughing very breathlessly. "How about we sit down and talk?"

It was just a hunch, but Lovino began to think in the vast, dark room that was untrustworthy with each step, that it would take much more than Antonio's guidance and therapy sessions to return to normal. Oddly enough, he was more than ready to face it all.


	2. Comfort Me

Progress hadn't changed. Days had become routines. Routines became muscle memory. These movements became his life, which had felt as if it had been sealed into a time capsule. The doctors met with him each week. Antonio sat beside him. They said he was responding to light, but that was it. Lovino would see a sliver of the flashlight through the dark and follow it, crying when it was shut off and he couldn't see more.

Antonio was very helpful. He was less of a nuisance and more of a guardian, as he had been trained to do. They developed a language at dinner based on hand squeezes and pinches. If he needed to move left, Antonio wouldn't yank him (unless it was classified as life and death, in which case he would), he would merely stroke his palm in the direction and Lovino would obey. He knew he would protect him.

The man had extraordinarily soft hands. When he slid his fingers into Lovino's hands, he would almost jump and laugh, asking why his hands were so soft and what he used on them. If he were deaf, Antonio would have made a great Helen Keller.

A week passed and Lovino had still not moved from his disorder. It was in front of him like a tall person in a movie theater. They both sat on the couch, Antonio watching television and telling him what was going on as if he were a one-man show. Hilarious, he was! He even had the heart to act out _Titanic_ for him, and soon after had to take Lovino on a trip to the corner mart to buy some cough drops for his sore throat.

Back they were in the living room, Antonio now nursing his sore throat to the left of him and Lovino trying to figure out how to tie knots without knowing where the string was. It provided a mentally refreshing exercise because it taught him how to visualize, something his English teacher in grade school had done a very, very poor job trying to burn into his brain.

"Antonio," he murmured. The television was on low as to not disturb Lovino if he took a nap, and the man hummed back easily enough, inquiring what he needed. "What do you look like?"

"Hmm," he hummed again, sliding the lozenge around in his mouth and making suckling sounds every so often. "I have green eyes—"

"What kind of green?" Lovino cut over him, waiting for a response. "Are they a light green or a dark green?"

"… I don't know, they're not really dark, they're just green." He mumbled with his voice still dreadfully croaky. Lovino tutted and set the knot down on his pillow in front of him.

"Sure, give a vague description of yourself to the blind guy." He scoffed, tapping what he assumed to be Antonio's head when in fact it was just a pillow. He must have moved. "Think every shade of green you can imagine. Is it olive-like, or emeralds? Are they maybe swampy?"

"They're just _green!_" He laughed, throwing his hands up and slapping them back down on the sectional couch. Lovino had felt the vibrations and heard them thud against his chest. "If I had to say, they're a… fern?"

_"Fern?"_

"Yes, _fern_, I think."

"Antonio, there are a million different types of ferns in the world." He muttered. Antonio said to forget it and moved on. He went back to his knots and patted around for the rope while his guide thought of what to say.

"I have dark brown hair, and it's kind of wavy. It curls when I get out of the shower." He told him, and guided Lovino's hand so he could feel. He had soft hair. It was silky and not as he described. It was short, closely trimmed. Antonio rolled over from his lounging position to give Lovino more of a canvas-like feel by placing his hand on Antonio's warm features. "A lot of people touch my face, try to visualize it; it'll be a good exercise. Yes, that's my— _ouch_, nose… those are my lips. Why do you have to pull everything you touch?" He asked suddenly, trying not to laugh (he could feel him shaking) and taking his wrist to stop him from feeling around.

Lovino didn't know what to say. He could feel himself smiling and lowered his hand once Antonio let him be. His nose was long and pointed for a man like him. His chin felt like a baby's bottom, and he briefly wondered if he was so good at shaving no hair grew there now or there was never hair in the first place.

He wondered if there was irony in living so close to someone and feeling his every move to guide him in the dark and never being able to see him. It was very likely Lovino would never see Antonio's face. He couldn't visualize anything in the house or have the confidence to walk on his own, what made him think he could visualize a face such as his? Lovino placed the knot down and closed his eyelids, a very dim glow from the lights above being shut out. He gave up and decided to return to his dreams where at least a few things were the way they should be.

He couldn't hide it from his sister forever, however. Even an ocean away she still had a feeling something was wrong! She had called one evening when Antonio had retreated to his guest bedroom and Lovino grew afraid of the dark with each passing minute. His phone vibrated so close to his ear he was afraid it was a chainsaw and screeched in terror, feeling around for the object and finding it was only someone calling in the middle of the night. Antonio scrambled into his room and nearly fell, asking what the matter was.

"Nothing, my phone," he mumbled, having trouble finding it and finally getting it opened by his guide and placed back into his hands. "Who is it?"

"Your sister," he yawned, sitting down on the edge of the bed and moving around in some fashion. For once, he hadn't a slightest clue what the man was doing. "What's she like?"

"She's not for the taking, sorry," Lovino rushed before she caught on that he had answered. He was greeted with her very anxious huffs and her slight French muttering and tried to make it up to her by smiling through his voice. "Feli! Hey, Miss Chef, how are you doing in France?"

She paused. Bad news, Vargas, he hadn't spoken with her in weeks and the hospital almost certainly called her cell phone when he fainted and needed someone to know. When his little sister spoke, she was very chary and quiet. She sounded afraid. His stomach twisted as she spoke.

"Do you need me to come back home, Lovino?"

He felt his heart drop down to his feet. "No, no, Feli, I'm fine." She said no words and breathed into her phone, wetting her lips. "Feli, I'm okay, really. You're in France to study being a chef, not worry about me. I'll be better soon, alright?"

"They said you're living with a guide. Semester's almost done and we'll have time to go on holiday, but do I need to come earlier? Lovino, please,"

"No, stay in France," he said immediately, worried for her to see him in such a state and for her to worry, too. "You don't need to worry about me. I'll get better by holiday, it's my goal."

Feliciana's breath hitched and he exhaled very shakily, wiping tears from his useless eyes. He opened his lips again to further explain how he would recover as quickly as he could, however she spoke over him. "I'm coming home." She said firmly, and hung up. The connection was killed and his heart rate quickened, feeling the phone being coaxed out of his hand by Antonio's warm, soft fingers and turned off for him. Lovino sniffed and sobbed, rubbing his eyes to the point of where they burned and throbbed with a dead pulse and listened half-heartedly to his guide who moved silently around his room.

"You have an appointment with a therapist tomorrow, we'll fix this." He told him, his hands clasped in Antonio's own. He squeezed them and let him go, straightening from the sound of his bones crackling from use after his deep sleep. "Do you want me to stay with you? In case you need anything?"

No, he wanted to be alone. He wanted to wallow to himself and wish this never happened, that people could be better and not present such horrible displays that made him suffocate and faint and feel winded just at the thought. He would replay the image of the man's entrails on the tarmac in his mind a million times before sleeping and dreaming it happening to himself, to what he assumed Antonio looked like, to his little sister.

Still, he was afraid of the dark and the sounds his squeaky condominium made when the moon glided across the sky frightened him to the point of him crying alone in his bed with no one to comfort him. "Yes," he said pathetically, sitting back onto his pillows, which Antonio had moved to make it easier to sit. "Please, if you wouldn't mind."

From the sound of fabrics moving, Antonio had taken seat at the end of the bed against the footboard and tucked in his legs into a basket position. He waited until Lovino's breathing calmed before he spoke. "Why did that accident scare you so much to blind you, do you think?" He asked softly. Lovino didn't answer, for reason that he wasn't sure he trusted him enough to understand. He trusted him with helping him bathe in the shower and clean up any mess he made anywhere else. He trusted him not to let him run into walls or pillars or poles, so why this? His companion took a deep breath, as if ashamed of himself. "You don't have to answer; I was just doing my job again…"

"My parents." Stupid, stupid, stupid. He bit his lip and hid his face with his hands. Antonio moved slightly forward judging by the movement in the mattress. He let him continue if he chose to do so. "I was nine, my little sister was three. They went out on Valentine's Day for a day out and we were at our grandparents' house. Gran got a call and she told Grandpa to play with us in the other room. It was about midnight and we slept on our way to the hospital. We were kids; we didn't know what was going on. I heard my mom and I ran to see what the commotion was and I saw her…"

His chest began to quiver. It hadn't disturbed him when he could see because due to a very good therapist and love from his grandparents, he overcame the loss and now was a stronger man. He shook, shivered, and struggled to form words now that he was telling his guide the story and see his mother before him again, more vividly than ever. "S-She was going to die, I didn't know she was, but she looked at me, Antonio. She looked at me and that's what hurts me the most, today. When I look at Feliciana when she's afraid and disappointed, she looks like my mom did that day and I can't stand it. Her eyes were filled with tears and blood matted her hair, but she looked at me as if she was afraid to see me in her last moments, as if she was afraid to leave me alone with just my little sister for the rest of our lives. She knew.

"She died from losing too much blood fifteen seconds later, my father died at the scene. I was ripped away from a few doctors and I don't think I've ever cried more in my life. Dad thought it would be fine to drive after they had shared a bottle of wine, and they were both so in love they didn't want to fight about the consequences. These guys went driving their girls around in this large blue van and were too distracted to notice my parents crossing the street to their car. They hit my dad fatally and my mom was nearly ripped in half by the decorations on their bumper. When I saw that person ripped in half I thought of her, and I thought I saw her. I thought I saw all of _her_ guts spilling out of her chest and I fainted. I can't stop thinking about it."

Lovino could hear Antonio's jagged breathing and his occasional coughs in the silence following the ending of his story. He wiped his eyes quickly and didn't know what he was looking at but focused on the direction of where Antonio was, wondering what his guide thought and what his expression was.

"I would have never thought," he whispered, sniffing his nose and making some sort of embarrassed noise. "You're so brave to have overcome that. Extraordinary, honestly. I-I… don't know what to say."

"I don't want my sister to look at me that way." Lovino said after a few moments, his voice solid and a little exhausted. "I can't see her, but I know she will—"

"—And I'll make sure she doesn't." Antonio said after a beat. "Lovino, I'll do my best to make sure we can help you see again. If not, we'll make you just as strong as you were before." He paused and Lovino felt a thump or two as Antonio rose to his feet. "Your appointment is at nine, I'll help you get ready if you need it."

"Antonio?" Lovino asked, laying his head back onto the pillows and moving back under the covers. "Can you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Yes," he said almost immediately. Lovino's muscles relaxed and he nodded a small thank-you, hearing a wicker chair in the corner creak and pages flip open. "I'll be here; you don't have to be afraid of anything."

Although he was sure he meant something else, Lovino was calmed in another meaning and rested his eyes, taking comfort in the thought that for the first time in a long time, someone was there to watch over him.


	3. Console Me

What good was a therapist when you couldn't see them? Very good, in fact. His guide led him to a sofa where he sat down, not expecting quite the drop and getting a large shock from the entire experience. He wasn't sure if this person was a man or a female by the hand he shook, but when they spoke, it was clear he was in the presence of a man. A very relaxed man was across from him by the name of Roderich Edelstein. The image that instantly came to mind was a mad scientist from the films, but he had to admit, the man's accent was impeccably soothing. This image left like the darting of a humming bird's wings and he found himself completely at ease in his dark surroundings.

Lovino found that when this man spoke, his tongue was almost laced with silk. Every single syllable was polished, pressed and effortless with education and understanding. He asked jokingly if he should lie down to speak with him, staring at the ceiling. The man softly laughed and told him to make himself comfortable. Therefore, he did as the man with the supernatural voice said. Antonio rushed to move out of the way, he could tell because he moved to another chair on the far side of the room due to a large shuffling sound of fabrics.

"How are you?"

A strange question, he thought, but decided to answer. "I've been better."

"So here you are." Roderich responded, clicking a pen and scrawling something down loudly. "… And the weather's just beautiful…"

Lovino paused in asking, but he couldn't help his curiosity. He wet his lips and breathed out, nodding. "Can you describe it for me?"

"Couldn't you describe it yourself?" He mumbled. "Based on what you felt as you walked in to the office, could you describe it? You are a writer, aren't you?"

"A journalist," he defined quickly. "I'm on leave… until we can figure this out. I'm rusty; I haven't written an article in four months… I'm at a stand-still."

"Anyone can describe the weather."

Very true. Lovino smiled, closing his eyes. "I felt the sun. It was a little bit breezy, but not the breezy you need a coat for… It smelled like wet grass after the rain, so it must have stormed this morning. It has that musty sort of smell, you know? I can't see the clouds, but I could feel them moving past the sun and blocking it for a while as we were in traffic."

He hummed, his pen scrawling across his surface and scraping, making wonderful sounds he used to make on his own while he wrote his own works. "Yes, yes, perfect. Mr. Vargas, as you can see, although you have lost your sight, you have not lost your sense of your surroundings. Have you ever reached for something that has been in the exact same place each in everyday?"

"Of course, like shampoo bottles and jugs of milk." He responded, nodding. His therapist clicked his tongue in agreement. "I can shower on my own, at least. I know where everything is… It's just like showering in the dark."

"If the event is that you will never see again, which is entirely possible, you must be assured that by using your sense of your surroundings, you are just as well fit for the world as you were able to see. However, in these discussions, I will try to unearth the underlying cause of your trauma, and if such acts are easy, I will attempt to teach you how to deal with them to perhaps better your chances of recovering. Let us begin…"

Lovino hadn't realized how much therapy had changed since he was young. He hadn't expected to somehow be able to visualize all of the things he dreaded to think about and through Edelstein's work, feel acceptance, a sort of virtue.

However, the experience was too much in such a short span of time, and soon he began to blank on many memories, as if his mind had become blind, too. He felt as if he was sinking and falling in mid-air on the plush leather sofa that seemed to swallow him up in his negative feelings and pin him down with the weight of the situation. He felt short of breath many times, feeling his brow moisten and his pulse quicken rapidly. These experiences were deafened when a phone vibrated very loudly in the corner of the room and there were footsteps to the creaking door. Did his therapist just leave him? He felt afraid, left alone in the dark on a cool, leather couch and left to his own memories still tangled and rubbed raw from so many nights thinking of them. He began to shake, his eyes began to water. Who would help him up? Who would speak to him?

Lovino found out very easily that he was terrified of being alone. Being without someone near. He was terrified of the thought of never being able to contact someone because he couldn't see around. He was trapped in the dark and no one could save him. What a scary thought that was, to be submerged into a world of black nothingness and have no one at your side. He felt weightless, vulnerable. He slowly squirmed on the couch, forcing the words out of his throat.

"Is anyone still there?" asked he, clumsily wiping his brow and nearly stabbing himself in the eye while he did so.

"Yes," came the very delayed response. His therapist. Antonio must have stepped outside for a moment. "What did you experience just then, Lovino?"

"Terror," he answered very bluntly. "I thought I was alone, I forgot Antonio was still with us." Lovino shivered, still not over the emotion of emptiness he had felt. "I felt so alone, like I was sunk into the middle of the ocean with no signs of life forever. It was an overreaction, I know, but—"

"No, no, no reaction is an overreaction," he rushed, his voice soothing and so soft it was like a touch of a mother's finger against his ear. "This is your trigger, however humiliating it might be to you, it is our job to repress that. Trauma triggers are troubling reminders of a traumatic event, although they can be pleasant, like eating chocolate ice cream and being quickly reminded of a time when you were small. Your distressing thoughts are triggered by the thought or act of being alone, I can tell. Does your guide know this?"

"I have been asking him to stay with me until I am sleeping, and I tag along with him on any errands he may run." He told him, biting his lip. "He's been very kind about it." So kind, Lovino would have to recommend him and keep him around if he recovered. He was a very supporting man, so gentle and kind that he hardly had a chance to think about it. "He's been a very good friend to me, and I don't know if that's just his job or if we are truly friends. I lay my life in his hands and he has all of my trust. I don't know where I step when I leave this room, for he leads the way."

"And he lives with you in your home?"

"He's a long-term living assistance guide, and as of now he's currently sleeping in my younger sister's old bedroom. She's in France now, but we just got a call last night that she'd be coming home early from culinary school to see me. I didn't tell her about all of this, the hospital did… Now she's worried sick and I'm afraid she'll look at me as my mother did before she passed away. As if she could have been there with me so it wouldn't have happened, even though it did. I'm afraid she'll look at me as my mother did and I can't even see her face to make sure she isn't."

A very long pause later and Edelstein spoke again. "We have made _tremendous_ progress today, although it may seem like little to you. I'll speak with your guide on how to further enhance your life at home so these triggers will be suppressed, and the stress causing the disorder will be rid of. If we can use these practices, we can perhaps calm your mind and give you back your sight again."

He was helped up by the man's gentle hands and slowly led to the door, where Antonio quickly took over and apologized for stepping out for his call. Edelstein said he needed to speak with Antonio in private and advised him to give him a call when they were home. A private call? They both stiffened at the thought, although Lovino couldn't see what his guide thought of the scheme.

"Thank you very much," Lovino told his therapist, who shook his hand with a light chuckle, throwing his world off just the slightest bit. He moved away and Antonio turned him around, verbally leading him down the steps and back into the car where he had quite the surprise in store.

"Your sister called me," he told him, starting the car and rolling down the windows to let in the warm, beautiful air. "She's landing at the airport right now; she said the hospital gave her my phone number. We're going to go pick her up. I promise it'll be alright, and I'll explain to her everything." Antonio explained, easing his soft, tender hand into Lovino's and giving it a reassuring squeeze. With the contact to his wrist, Lovino felt Antonio's sleeve. Long sleeve shirts in such nice weather? Come to think of it, Antonio always wore long, heavy shirts and summer was quickly approaching.

"You always wear sleeves." He noticed, wetting his lips. "It's warm out, dummy; you said you liked the heat, didn't you? You're going to get all sweaty."

He heard him laugh, and the sound was a little edgy if he had to pin an emotion to it. Nothing more was said on the subject and Antonio slowly retracted his hand back to the wheel. Lovino couldn't help but be curious about his apprehension, but did not bring it up any further. He had other things to worry about, such as what he would say to his sister when she would see him and he wouldn't return the favor.


	4. Believe Me

Feliciana was met at the airport by Lovino and his guide an hour later. His sister's masculine shoes clopped up to him on the tile floor and he unexpectedly felt her tight arms around his ribs, her hot face pressed to his shirt as he felt her breath quicken and fat, unwelcome tears on his skin. Little was said. Antonio had let go of him and let Feliciana cry and sniffle and kiss his face, unable to speak aside from 'I missed you' and 'I'm sorry'. What stung the most was that she wasn't sorry for being away for so long, but she was sorry she wasn't there for him.

Luckily, Antonio cut in once Lovino began to fear what was behind the black security of his eyes. "It's nice to finally meet you." He told her. "He's in good hands, I promise, we have an excellent program."

Feliciana spoke with her eyes. Without being able to see her brown beauties, she was all but mute. She was silent until her arms gripped his sides one final time and her suitcase clicked to roll away. "I can see." She said, breathless and almost giggling, softly weaving her fingers in between his and clutching his hand. Her hold was almost desperate, and it made his heart ache and wish he wasn't so sensitive and this wouldn't have happened. Antonio offered to go back to the car so Feliciana could get back to Lovino's home and rest after that long of a flight.

Lovino had been led into the backseat, and he could tell because Feliciana crawled in next to him and laced her arm with his. She had always been clingy in more senses of the word than one could imagine, but he loved her just the same. He felt responsible for her safety, now. He was ashamed that he let her down, and now no longer feared her looking at him the way his mother did but instead him looking that way to her.

"Was it bad?" She whispered softly, her voice clouding with tears again. He tutted and felt his eyes roll as she clutched tighter. Lovino didn't want to think about it, they said not thinking about it would help. His imagination flickered between the worn down images of the accident in front of him again and his hands chilled and moistened. "Lovino, I'm really sorry, once they called me I was just so worried, I booked the flight as soon as I could to see you."

Feliciana didn't know much of what happened to their parents; she was only a little kid, freshly three years old and thinking Mommy and Daddy left on a long vacation until she watched them get lowered into the ground together in her little black dress and her bright pink coat, clutching his hand until he almost told her to stop. Feliciana grasped what happened but never cried. Sometimes she asked him when she'd crawl into Lovino's bed what Mommy was like and if she was pretty and how old he was when she died and what her favorite color was. Other nights she'd ask what Daddy looked like and if he loved Mommy a lot and why they had to leave. The questions were always the same and sometimes he wouldn't have the patience to tell her, but he did even so because she was growing up and she knew her toys better than she knew her mom. She still asked the questions, but she asked better ones like what her job was and if Dad ever let Lovino do anything Mom said not to.

"I'd like to talk with you, Feliciana," Antonio spoke up from the front seat, and he felt her nod from where he sat. Nothing more was said and her temple was placed on his shoulder as delicately as possible until she didn't care if she was hurting him anymore, she just wanted to be close to him. Lovino had thought before that he wanted to see, but that didn't amount to how he felt about it now. Never in his life had Lovino yearned for something so much, surpassing the longing he felt when each night after school he'd wish for his parents. He now wanted to be there for his sister, and hopefully Antonio would be able to do that. He had done so much for him already.

Feliciana's visit was nearly over. Despite her being there for nearly a month, the experience was more often than not unremarkable due to him being at the doctor and the therapist so much for check-ups and appointments. She ate lunch and dinner with him and cooked for her, and apologized, saying it looked better than it tasted. He'd take her word for it since it was only her first year at cooking school. He said he'd expect better from her when she came back.

One thing Lovino had noticed, however, his sense of hearing had increased drastically since it was the sense he relied on the most along with his sense of touch. He had been resting on the couch after listening to the news and was just on the edge of sleep when he heard his sister's voice so close to him, although by the sound of her feet she was at least ten feet away. Lovino was having trouble keeping himself awake.

"I've never seen him happier." She confessed, and it wasn't clear whom she was talking to until Antonio's familiar, warm laugh softly resounded through the living room. "No, I'm serious. He can't see you, but he's so happy every time you're near him, and he isn't afraid. You know, he's a very touchy person, he doesn't like it when strangers suddenly grasp him or touch him."

"It's common for people who have lost their vision, I'm told; people who are regularly afraid of physical contact strive for it to guide them when they're in the dark. It's normal—"

"It's not normal for him." She interrupted, seemingly desperate. "He hasn't had any sort of…" Feliciana paused and moved around as she tried to find the right word. "Lover. Since high school. Even then, it wasn't very strong but… Antonio, even if he can't see you, he looks at you like he did to them."

Long pause. Feliciana rushed to recover and failed. Antonio made no sound.

The next sound was so soft he only managed to grasp the word "…here." They moved out of the room and Lovino saw a glint of light escape the corner of his sight before he gave up his attempts of ever staying awake.

Feliciana left the next day. _"Mi mancano i tuoi occhi,"_ she whispered in his ear, meaning very plainly in English 'I miss your eyes'. He wished the same to her. Shortly after, she left, and Lovino retreated to the car with Antonio in hysterics, thus marking at four in the evening on a Sunday the third month he had spent his life with Antonio.

Aside from glimmers of hope, the situation had grown dire. His doctor said at the next weekly check-up that it was probably time for Antonio to teach him Braille and wean him off his medication if possible. They gave him one last check over and Lovino swore he saw something. They said to come back next week, but still to begin closing down treatment. In the car on the way home, when Lovino felt so numb he could only feel the tears rolling down his cheeks and hitting his folded hands, Antonio told him that he believed that it would get better and that maybe he would gain partial vision back.

Despite not knowing what was behind his self-inflicted injury, he could tell the air was bitter and the mood was vacant. No promises held fruitful. Lovino's last thoughts were of a man being torn in half by a station wagon and driving away, only to see Chicago's skyscrapers loom over him as his feet lost their footing and slowly spun back onto the pavement.

"Lovino," he whispered behind him, softly easing his hands to his jacket to spin him around to face him. "Don't believe them, because I think there's still so much left in you. You don't ever need to feel alone because I'm here, and if that's not enough, there are so many people in this town and in this world that love you." He rambled on, Antonio's warm, soft hand soon very close to his cheek to wipe the tears away. "Your sister told me you were the happiest she'd ever seen. Just because you can't see now doesn't mean it's the last of you…"

His heart burrowed down to his stomach and pounded itself there, knocking on the door of his skin and making his neck break into a cold sweat as his eyes burned and stung like tiny red-hot needles were poking at him. "Stupid," he choked out, blinking wildly and seeing flashes of light as if someone was shoving a strobe light in his face. "I know, I know that, but I miss it."

"You'll see it again."

"I miss you," he cried, shaking his head even though he wasn't sure what for. "I'm not afraid of what happened, or being alone, I'm afraid of never seeing you…"

"You will." His grip clutched him tighter and Lovino felt like he might suffocate. As he kept blinking the world almost fell into place. He very briefly saw a hand clutching his arm, and was so confused if it was a hallucination or a memory.

"It's so bright," he finally shouted, ripping his hands away from his pockets to rub wildly at his eyes. "Why's it so damn bright…"

"What is?" Antonio rushed, clutching his arm so tight that Lovino almost gasped and cried from the pain. "What's bright, Lovino?"

Squinting, Lovino focused his eyes on the black silhouette in front of him and felt his lungs collapse and he took shape. He didn't see Antonio's face first due to the apparent massive height difference. What he saw was a scar from hell's flames stretching like dark tan spider webs across Antonio's right cheek and cascading down to his jaw line and below his shirt collar.


	5. See Me

Was it his mind playing tricks on him? His eyes squinted as he reached to remove Antonio's hand from his arm and knowing exactly where it was. It was almost like he had been afraid of his hands all over again, seeing exactly where they were and being so frightened of how close he had been all this time. Antonio's eyes were the most garish green he had ever seen in his entire life, cutting right through his skin like chilled knives and making dagger marks all along his face. "How many fingers?" The back of his right hand was only slightly warped and scarred. The sharp hiss of his guide's voice make his whole frame shake now seeing it come out of such animated lips. He was paled if it weren't for his dark complexion, obviously of a Hispanic descent. Dark brown wavy hair spilled over onto his forehead and around his eyes, hiding some of the distortion under their waving shadows. "Lovino, look at them, how many fingers, tell me." He demanded, his voice suddenly so much more panicked than before and so loud and ripe he winced and blinked around the man to look for his fingers.

"Three." He answered numbly, raising his hand slowly to feel the twisted skin. There were reasons Antonio preferred to be to the right of Lovino, perhaps so he wouldn't feel the soft, rippled texture of his right hand that was obviously foreign. "Antonio, what happened—"

His fingers were grasped in Antonio's left hand and he was tugged back outside, the keys fumbling wildly in his right hand to unlock the car. "Get in," he told him, standing near the driver's side of the car and watching him, his chest rising and falling over and over again as his arms twisted and folded and unfolded underneath his long-sleeved shirt. "We have to go see the doctor again. Get in."

Why was he just standing there? Normally he helped him into the car. Outside there was overcast and it was only misting a rain on their faces, but it was still so bright. Lovino squinted and rubbed his eyes repeatedly, expecting to all fade away and only being granted a clearer vision. He opened the car door and got in by himself, looking to see where the seatbelt was and fastening it before closing the door. Antonio cursed loudly from outside and gnawed on his pale lips, getting in quickly and starting the car with a flick of his lightened wrist. As they pulled out and accelerated, Lovino could hear him mumbling under his breath in a rapid, hot tongue that he instantly marked as Spanish, and he was afraid to see how good he was at speaking it. English was his second language. He had mentioned that. Antonio hardly ever spoke about his past, only how he was in the future and how he kept in contact with his parents.

Lovino couldn't take his eyes off the intricate webbing of scars that almost seemed as if it would be hot to the touch like a bad sunburn. From the left side, he almost looked untouched, a virgin boy with a large heart. What were they from? Lovino swallowed and squinted as he turned back forward once Antonio's eye caught his as quickly flickered away. "…It's bright."

"Oh, God, shit, I'm sorry," he fumbled at the stoplight for a pair of spare sunglasses, watching Lovino put them on by himself and slide them perfectly into place unlike how he always poking himself in the nose or the eye when he put his glasses on for bed. Antonio breathed out shakily, his hands twisting on the leather steering wheel of the car and making his knuckles turn white.

"Why are you mad?" Lovino whispered, turning back to him and not liking how the huge sunglasses distorted his vision and made things darker then they truly were. He took them off again so he could truly see his guide again, wanting so badly to go beyond the rope that screamed in bold letters 'fragile- do not touch'.

Antonio adjusted himself in his seat, obviously very uncomfortable in the situation at hand and making Lovino want to get him out of it if only he weren't the cause. "I'm not mad, I'm just—"

"You won't look at me."

"I'm just keeping my eyes on the road." He responded almost too loud for comfort. Lovino looked back down to his lap and listened to Antonio's stressed breathing, how he could almost sense his muscles quivering in fear under the heavy long sleeves clearly meant for something more than just the chill of today's weather. "I'm not mad, Lovino." He repeated a few moments later as he pulled into the hospital's parking lot. "Let's go."

They quickly unbuckled and exited the car, almost sprinting towards the doors where the receptionist who had seen the two but moments before was now shocked to see them back so soon. Lovino was surprised to see how beautiful she was even if her voice sounded something awful. She said the doctor was still available, only briefly so. Antonio tugged his hand and they swiftly weaved through hospital staff and people connected to IV trains taking strolls along the hallway. Lovino glanced to see the clear side of Antonio's face and admired how… implausibly beautiful he was. He had flaws, sure, but those flaws were still gorgeous to him. What a handsome man. So kind-hearted, so loveable. He took care of him for months, was so magnanimous, and expected nothing in return. Lovino could have cried, and so he did. He saw his vision blur with the white-hot tears and quickly wiped them away, leaving his cheeks feeling grimy and humid.

"He can see." Antonio quickly said when the blond woman with the soft green eyes stood up from her spot. "He saw me, he got into the car and he could get out. He knew what was in front of him."

"Slow down, slow down," she hushed him, grabbing her flashlight from her pocket. "Follow this light for me,"

"He could see light before, he can see everything now!" Antonio nearly shouted. His doctor, Belle, from what she had been called by Antonio, wavered and pocketed her light again.

"Follow my finger, then." She murmured, holding up a long, thin finger. He would have watched it anyway. He followed it in a box motion, even when she did a figure eight with it. She placed it back down by her side and looked at Antonio, then back to him. "Was it the medication?"

"He's been taking it since day one."

"Well, surely there must have been something that made the incident not his prime concern and thought."

Lovino moved his eyes slowly to his guide, one he had only wished to see for the past week and being reminded he would never be able to see again. How could he be faced with not knowing who held his hand and helped him through literally the darkest experience of his life? His doctor looked at Lovino's gaze and bit her lip. Antonio slowly met his stare and with an awkward movement, breathed in with an air of apprehension after what was the longest silence Lovino had possibly ever had in his life.

"Keep taking the medication until it's gone so we can be sure it doesn't come back again." Belle whispered to Lovino, yanking him back to reality with a soft touch on his shoulder. "It was a pleasure, please stay in touch." She smiled, hugging the husk of what was Lovino's body and exiting the room as her pager alerted her.

Now left in the sterile room with him, Antonio kept swallowing and moving his jaw as if he were about to vomit all over the tile and run away screaming like a little boy who looked into the eyes of the boogeyman. "Let's go home, okay?"

What, after all that? He would take him home, pack up his things and never see him again? Lovino stood resolute, unmoving. Antonio repeated himself a little louder, but still he stood. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"You got better, and you can go back to work. Life'll be normal again for you."

"No, not about me," he grumbled, shuffling on his feet when Antonio wavered like a bad smell by the door. "I'm tired of hearing about me, I'm tired of hearing about what I should feel and what I shouldn't feel, or what's in front of me instead of what's in front of you— Tonio, I want to hear about you, okay? For months I've been waiting to see you and now you're acting like a-an idiot because now I can! You act like you're such a monster when really you're the most beautiful, kind man I've ever met."

His guide's figure disappeared from the doorway but certainly not towards him. Lovino followed him. "Antonio," he hissed, having trouble keeping up with him. "Stop. I want to talk to you. Tell me why you're running away."

Lovino wasn't afraid now to grab Antonio's arm and spin him around. He wasn't even scared when his soft hands grasped his cheeks and the scar stretching across his cheek touched his, cool and soft and his warm lips touched his.

"I'm not afraid, not of you."


	6. Love Me

Lovino could drive. He could walk on his own, cook, and get dressed. He was exactly who he wished he could be again, yet something wasn't sitting right. Despite all of this new independence, he had felt more alone then ever.

Shortly after he had parted lips with Antonio, he had left in a hurry and hadn't spoken to him since. His phone felt heavy in his hands knowing in a short moment he could speak with him on the other side. What company did he work for? His insurance company would tell him, for sure. His old doctor could say. It was on his way to work that he thought this, staying very clear of the intersection which caused all of this and blessed him the most understanding, and perhaps misunderstood man in his life.

The scars on his face opened windows and doors of answers to questions he had asked. Why so subtle about his physical appearance? Why was he always wearing long sleeves despite summer's harsh breath? And why was he always insistent that he walked on the left side of him? Better yet, why was he so afraid and enraged when Lovino could see again? All of these answers were putting themselves back into place like errant children in single file. Among these realizations, Lovino found himself ready to face him, even eager when he laid down to bed that night and thought about him all over again, now seeing not just his face and his wavy brown hair that so carefully whispered at his forehead and curled against his brilliant, beautiful green eyes.

It occurred to Lovino walking his way down the street that he loved him, less of a friend and a brother and more of a companion, one he didn't think he could live without. He walked the same route everyday planning what he would do once he would see him again before he actually did something about it.

He called the company Antonio worked for and asked where he could possibly find him. They explained a code of privacy with the clients he worked with until he had actually explained he was one of his clients. The receptionist paused and sighed, reading him off the address to their office where he would be. He was only there for one more hour and how it would be a good idea if he wanted to come, to come now because he was taking a few days off and wouldn't be in contact for a while.

Lovino was sure he slammed his finger on the end call button to race over to the end table hiding his keys in a small glass dish. He didn't even bother locking his door. His car was junky at best. It was as reliable as the weather and he realized how badly he needed to get a new car once the engine sputtered a cough as he tried to bring it to life. It gasped and fell dead. He kicked it, pocketing his keys and looking at the scrawled out address in his palm.

He quickly read it over. Not but thirty blocks away, which was a lot in hindsight, sure, but he was sure he could make it on foot. He hadn't the money on him for a taxi and rush hour was approaching. He swallowed, kicking his leg up on the hood of his car to tighten his shoelaces and awkwardly stumbling off to sprint down the street.

His lungs began to cripple after the third block but his feet kept going. He disregarded the lights on the streets and ran out into traffic, his mind flashing pictures of what happened the last time he saw someone do this action. Disregarded that. All he cared about was speaking to Antonio to get some damn closure because he hadn't slept for two weeks and the days were lonely without him, something that he had said he was trying to fix.

Tourists and shoppers and pedestrians blocked his path, and Lovino would be ashamed to say now that he did shove many of them out of the way in his desperate attempt to reach his office. His lungs burned as if he had chugged an entire bottle of whiskey and his vision speckled. Seven more goddamn blocks.

Five. Three. Two. One.

Lovino didn't stop once he reached the door, huffing and puffing so much he coughed and gagged, a constant reminder maybe he should skip the cannoli for once and maybe get on the treadmill.

"Where is he?" He gasped at the receptionist who had to take off his glasses to see if he was seeing straight. "I had to run, my engine—"

"Down the hall and the fourth door on your left." He stumbled, his obvious Bostonian accent slipping on the words. Lovino closed his eyes, reaching out and clutching his tanned hand to kiss it like he goddamn meant it for helping him and jogging off to meet his guide.

The door was blurred for privacy and aside from a name, had the number 'A034' beside the hinge in white letters, 'Assisted Living Counselor' underneath. He knocked once and barged in, slamming the door behind him and rattling the entire room. There the bastard sat with a bulky cord phone pressed to his right cheek, an angel against the bright room's light. Lovino thought about how Antonio's eyes had only looked at him with vexation and discontent up until that moment where he looked at him like he was the most fucking insane person he had ever met.

"I have to go," he muttered, slamming the phone on the receiver in one fluid motion and sitting up straight to sputter out "Lovino, what are you doing here?"

"I think you have a damn idea." He struggled, seeing him and feeling his eyes water and string and burn as if he had opened his eyes in saltwater. "Why did you leave?"

"You can see again, I leave when you don't need me anymore—"

"That's bullshit and you know it!" Lovino yelled over him, his heart beating in his ears and through his scalp so hard he had to lean against the chair to hack out a string of coughs, unable to continue. Antonio's eyes shifted into something else as he quickly rushed out of his chair to coax Lovino to sit down in the seat he was leaning on. "I-I still need you, you're the one who left…"

"Shh, sit down, it's alright, don't stress yourself," Antonio whispered frantically, rubbing his shoulders as he knelt next to him. Lovino wanted to shake him off to spite him, to make him feel what he had felt for the past two weeks, but couldn't bring himself to do it as his chest quickened in its wild rising and falling motions as sobs began to fill his lungs instead of air. He felt messy and sweaty and like he was drowning in himself.

"You left because you're afraid of m-me." Lovino struggled out. "You left because you're afraid of what I'd think of you, a-and you don't want me to see you." He opened his eyes to see Antonio blinking, unconsciously shaking his head in a quickening pace. "Don't look at me like that… you were afraid. You didn't need to be, but you were." He opened his mouth to speak and Lovino quickly continued. "You never wanted me to see you."

"I didn't." He rushed to agree, his eyebrows furrowing. Lovino swallowed hard and his chest shook as sob after sob left him. He listened to him. "I took your job because I needed more practice in taking care of a wider age group, and I took it because with the damage you had I didn't think you were going to see again."

"Y-You lied to me, you said I would." Lovino stammered, shaking his head when Antonio spoke over him and yelling to make himself heard. "You _believed_ I would."

"I didn't want you to see me." He said with finality, breathing out shakily.

Lovino felt this sink in as if he had finally swallowed a large bite of food, feeling it rub and stab all the way down. "You never answered my question." He whispered, confused and a little afraid of the long silence Antonio gave him. "What happened to you? I told you what happened to my parents."

"That isn't very justifiable." He laughed half-heartedly, his eyes unbelieving. Lovino stood steadfast, never breaking eye contact with him, and perhaps seeing what was under his scar and making him feel very vulnerable. His palms were sweaty as he stood up to sit on his desk, raking his hair back out of his face just to have it fall back again. "In college, I was studying to be an English or History teacher because I liked how people could look in deeper and see another meaning to a simple event or phrase…" He laughed, incredibly nervous, somehow seeing a hidden irony in his words as he began to tremble. "There was this kid in my year; kind of quiet, never liked talking to people or me for that matter, thought everyone was really obnoxious." He shrugged, looking at Lovino as if he knew where this was going. "One day he runs into our dorm buildings and starts throwing Molotov cocktails in our rooms, spraying gasoline everywhere and locking us in so we could 'burn in hell'.

"A lot of us made it out okay but some of my classmates didn't make it. He's in federal prison, now. Thing was, I tried to save as many of my classmates as I could. Most of them made it out with first-degree burns, but I was the idiot that kept going back in to break down doors to save them. A bomb he made and dropped on accident in the hall caught fire and as I was carrying out my friend on my left, hit me on my right side and."

Antonio stopped speaking, trembling so much his body looked like a blur of motion and breathed out, gesturing to his scars as if they spoke for themselves. "I saved maybe twenty? I don't know, I lost so many of my friends. I just want to help people, now."

"You're a hero," Lovino whispered, his heart twisting in on itself when Antonio closed his eyes and winced, as if he was being hurt all over again. "Antonio, you saved so many people—" He stood up, waving Lovino off as he shook his head and rolling up his sleeve to look at the flames eternally sealed in his skin. "Y-You saved me, too…" He said, quickly wiping his tears and not caring about the rest. "Antonio, I love you." His guide turned back, confused, suspended in a world of disbelief for a brief moment. "Why else would I kiss you and you kiss back? You're one of the greatest people I've ever met."

Antonio seemed to recall it, as if it hadn't been on his mind, too. Lovino's stomach felt like hairs sprouted from it and tickled his insides as it knotted and twisted around. He felt sick knowing that Antonio probably didn't feel the same way. It made him shiver and shake and cry all over again. "Lovino," he began, his tone all wrong to his ears.

"No," he moaned, shakily standing up and feeling his muscles ache. "You just wanted to take care of me, I get it…" Antonio rushed to stand up after him, catching his shoulders and awkwardly moving to embrace him. Lovino choked on his words and felt his warmth radiate off his chest, hearing the rapid thumping of his good, sweet heart.

"You loved me even when you couldn't see me?" He asked in a hushed voice, tears clear in his voice. "Lovino,"

"I love you, now," he whispered back, clutching his sides. "For everything."

Antonio had gotten looks from so many people on the streets and in his everyday life and still, Lovino wasn't afraid. He loved him when he didn't know who he was. He felt a smile stretch at his lips and kissed his forehead, resting his right cheek on his head. Had he expected this at the end of his job? No, of course not. But he certainly wasn't opposed to it. He had never felt luckier and more loved in his life. And for once, he felt as if he deserved it. "I love you, too."


End file.
